


Like Clockwork

by commandercrouton



Series: Reylo Drabbles & One-Shots [18]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Farmer! Ben, Farmer's Market, Fluff, No Sex, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commandercrouton/pseuds/commandercrouton
Summary: Every Sunday Ben goes to the Farmer's Market and goes home alone. Today is different.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Reylo Drabbles & One-Shots [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1422574
Comments: 51
Kudos: 221
Collections: The Perfect Date - Pink Ladies Spring Exchange





	Like Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crysania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/gifts).



> I decided to go with the song Sunday and had my own little twist to it. I hope you enjoy!

Every Sunday is like clockwork. Ben awakes to the shrill sound of the alarm, the sky still dark and full of stars. He stumbles into the restroom and quickly freshens up because he knows if he slows down, he will fall back to sleep. His footsteps thud and echo through the empty two-story home. 

As his coffee brews, he shoves on a jacket and walks to the hen house to grab any of the fresh eggs produced from his brood. They cluck angrily at him for being woken, and he murmurs apologies to them with soft words and quick pets. By that time, the sun has started to rise and his rooster (kept separately from his brood) has begun to sing his morning ballad. 

He walks back into the house and makes a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, and his now cooling coffee. He washes his one plate setting quickly, leaving it to dry on the counter for his dinner later that night. He will usually think of stopping at some fast-food joint on the way home, but he knows he will think against it and make dinner at home. It doesn’t stop him from wondering, though. 

The screen door slams against the hardwood frame and he locks the door in a robotic gesture, back from when he lived in the city—before he inherited his grandparents’ farm and moved out to the country. Contrary to his mother’s belief, he is just as alone here as he was in the city. 

XXXXXXX

He parks his dusty and beat up truck behind the church, and in exactly two minutes, George, another farmer down the road from his, will pull in next to him. They will both nod in greeting, make a comment about the weather, then unload in silence—George with his lemons and Ben with his peaches. In exactly seven minutes, they will walk down the pavement to the booths set up the night before and begin to place their produce in the generic piles of neat and staggering rows. 

And then he will sit and wait. Making small talk with the townfolk as they come to his booth. Politely thanking them as they pass him cash for his hard-earned work. As the sun gets higher, the air will get hotter, and he will shrug off his jacket right as the people who went to church leave the service. Some folks will stay to check out the items and some will rush away. Their lives are not monotonous in a way he envies. 

XXXXXXX

Ben continues to sit in the shaded booth, refilling his peaches as needed. He looks at the clock in nervous anticipation, wondering if the woman who haunts his dreams will be there. He doesn’t know her name. Only that she always shows up in the late morning. The timing is never the same. Most Sundays she has a cup of coffee with her. Every Sunday she stops at the floral booth run by the Tico Sisters and chats with them. Once in a while her laughter will carry on the wind to him, and he loves it. She is the only thing not set to his uniform schedule, and he loves it.

His brown eyes search through the crowd when activity at his booth is slow, but he doesn’t see her. He imagines what it will be like to talk to her—introduce himself with a simple and polite greeting, and she would respond in kind. Maybe she cracks a joke, and he smiles, getting the courage to ask her for lunch at one of the small restaurants surrounding the area. Maybe she will say yes with a smile, or maybe she will sadly say she can’t because she is in a relationship. Maybe they will just be friends. Maybe she is a terrible person (though he doubts that). Maybe she will think he is a terrible person (this scenario is most likely).

Sadly, he knows he will never get the courage to talk to her. He will just wait, hoping for some small interaction between them. 

At precisely fifteen ‘til eleven, his alarm goes off, and he politely asks George to watch his booth for him. George nods with a smile and motions for him to go alone. Ben always asks if George wants anything, and George will point at his sack lunch—a meal made with love from his husband who is at home with the kids. Ben nods in agreement, and he walks away to one of the bakery booths and buys himself a bear claw. The sugar is an extra rush of energy he needs to stay strong the last two hours. 

As he walks back to his booth while surreptitiously wiping his mouth for a stray piece of glaze, he knows he will see George smiling at the people walking past their booths, and engaging in small talk. Ben always admired that feat about him. 

He sees George smile at him, nodding in his direction, and his steps almost falter. There must be someone there interested in some of his fruit. As he steps forward, he freezes as he sees the brunette he has been interested in, laughing along with George. She turns around, and at that moment, church bells ring. 

Literally.

Ben glances at the church as he sees patrons rush through the doors, trying to make it before the eleven o’clock mass starts. 

He turns around at the same time she does. Their eyes meet, and the smile she gives him is blinding. It’s a bright beam of light and he is drawn to it like a moth. 

“Hey, are you Ben?” she asks with a grin still on her face. 

He nods, unable to form the words as he walks towards her, her form growing smaller the closer he gets. Her presence always seemed so big from afar, but here as he stands next to her, he is surprised to see he towers over her. 

“I’d like to buy a couple of peaches, please.”

His shadow looms over her, making it easier for him to view her features. Standing so close to her he can see her freckles, dotting her face in an array of constellations. Her eyes are a beautiful hazel that reminds him of his orchard in the peak of summer when the leaves were a lush green and the bark was a healthy brown. Her chestnut hair complimented her tanned skin. Looking at her in simple shorts and a shirt makes him believe there is no prettier sight. 

He realizes he hasn’t answered her, and he quickly sets to picking out his best peaches for her. He has packed four and he stops suddenly, looking at the bag. 

“Everything alright?” Her voice is next to him and he almost jumps. When did she get so close to him?

Unconsciously, he licks his lips and swallows, a movement to dispel the dryness in his throat. Her eyes follow the movement and he warms at the attention. Tension slowly rises between them as they continue to stare at one another. Panic swells as he realizes he has no idea what to do, and the urge to preserve himself wins. 

He clears his throat. “You never said how many you need, ma’am.”

Her lips part and her eyes widen in surprise. “That would help, wouldn’t it. Six or seven should be enough.”

Now that he started talking, he can’t seem to stop. “Do you need them right away?” He draws his attention back to his stock. 

“Why do you ask?”

“If you are needing all of them right away, I can give you the ripest. If you plan on using them at different times, I can give you various ones.”

“Oh, well I plan on making a peach cobbler tonight. Maybe tomorrow. There is no set schedule.”

No schedule—such a contrast to his life.

She continues on, “Do you always give your customers this much attention?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

The response is out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He freezes as he grabs the last peach and he can feel his ears burn underneath his dark hair. 

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—well I did mean it, but I shouldn’t have—”

She silences him with a gentle touch on his forearm, her small hands curling around the muscle. “It’s okay. You’re pretty handsome too.”

Ben stutters at the compliment as he tries to come up with some response, but his mind has seemed to stop working. 

“You busy tonight?”

Her question seems to silence his brain. “What?”

“I asked if you were busy tonight.”

Busy? On a Sunday? The technical answer is no, but the fact is he has a schedule. He packs up. He goes home. Makes dinner for one. Sets an alarm and goes to sleep. Then he repeats his schedule day in and day out. 

He doesn’t say it though. Instead, he responds, “I can move some things around.”

“I know a diner a couple of blocks down the road. Wanna get dinner?”

“Yes.” His answer is immediate but leaves plenty of room for regret at answering so quickly. 

“Great. I’ll meet you there, at six?”

He nods, dazed at his luck, and hands her the small bag of peaches. 

She turns and begins to walk away, her long legs a tantalizing sight as she continues with a slight spring in her step. 

Wait. Ben realizes he forgot to get payment.

“Wait!” he calls out, his voice booming across the street. He ignores the stares the other members of the crowd give him, and he walks forward, but what comes out his mouth is a more important question, “What’s your name?”

“Rey, with an e. See you tonight Ben!”

XXXXXXX

Every morning, he wakes up at the same time, but nothing is ever consistent. Sometimes he will wake with Rey’s arms around him, holding onto him tightly as she tries to prevent him from starting the farm work. Other times he wakes up with her body curved into his, his hard member pressing into her firm...peach...for lack of a better word. 

Their oldest kid will join him on the weekends, already eager to learn how to take care of the farm she is sure she will inherit, while the younger ones sleep in. Every once in a while the whole family will join, but it turns more into a problem then being productive.

He loves every minute of it.

He loves how he will find random articles of clothing belonging to his children scattered around the house. He loves how their dogs will choose a random room to sleep in. His days are no longer clockwork. Instead, they are filled with chaos. Some days are better than others, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. Now, the only consistent thing in his life is the happiness and love he feels when he sees the mayhem that surrounds him. 

  
  
  



End file.
